Four hours ago, the skin on my hands was numb and prickly from the freezing rain blowing through northwest Portland. On my way home along NW 23rd, I saw something lying on the sidewalk. It was hardly recognizable as human. A head was wedged in the niche of a storefront, and part of a torso protruded. The torso wore a lightweight shirt. In the bitter cold.
“That's stupid,” I thought. “They must be high.”
The only other person on the street was an older man selling the homeless newspaper. All alone in the darkness.
“Sorry,“ I said.
”Sorry,“ he echoed back. Why he was standing there in the cold, with no one around? Why not go somewhere more comfortable? Or go stand in front of Trader Joe’s. Whatever.
I struggled home to and wrestled with the dial on the radiator. It was way too warm. Then I ate some food and called my mom.
I take the bedding out of the chest and laid the pad and blankets on the floor. I crawled into my nest and looked at the Dharma book I’ve been reading.
There is the teaching that all beings have been our mother in a previous life.
I can’t sleep. If that body on the sidewalk had belonged to an animal, I would have helped. I always rescue earthworms from puddles when it rains. And yet I think it’s OK for that person to lie there in the bitter cold?
And the man with the newspaper--standing there, fruitless selling newspapers, on a deserted street—he was desperately trying to make enough money to buy a room for the night, or comfort in some form.
“What would be helpful to you?” I imagine myself asking. In a melodious voice. Before I place a blanket over the body on the cement bed. In this fantasy, I am compassionate and kind. This is the fantasy of someone who, four hours ago, ignored a human being literally begging for help.
I turn over. I have so many blankets. Other people do not. Something is wrong. It is wrong that I have blankets and people passed out on the freezing sidewalk do not have blankets.
There is something even worse, though. It is easier to be an asshole than to be kind.
I get out of bed and take an army blanket from the cedar chest. I walk into the night—warmer now—and up the street. Both people are gone. The niche with the sleeping body could barely fit a cat.
I know I can’t solve my stupidity this way. Is this better than nothing? Is this better than saying mantras for them? I don’t know.
Two men with good haircuts come up the street, carrying takeout containers. You can hear the alcohol in their voices.
”Confusion isn’t a feeling,” one blusters. “It’s a vague sensation.”
I have a vague sensation, all right. That begging requires either a special disposition, or else a special desperation. Asking strangers for help is hard, and hearing the way we dismiss that request must be harder. “Not today.” “Sorry.”
There is the assumption that these people can get help somewhere. And that money will just go to buy drugs or alcohol. But who’s to say that getting loaded isn’t a reasonable strategy for a cold night? Is withholding cash going to turn this person’s life around? I don’t know. If panhandling were fun and easy, it would be a lot more popular.
To you who are reading this—you who have been my mother—I have been terrible. What can I do? What can I give to the person who is now gone?
And what will I do next time.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Michael's Visit
My friend Michael came to visit. We ate crepes.
We talked a lot about Dharma, and all the adventures we've had since we met at Tassajara 3.5 years ago. Michael has subsequently found what I affectionately call "Tibetanism," but which is properly known as "Vajrayana Buddhism." Dietary guidelines from both traditions allow the consumption of crepes.
The next morning we had a bleary, doomed breakfast with Rob. Then we took a drive out to Great Vow Zen Monastery. Many beings there welcomed us. Some of those beings wondered if Michael was my boyfriend. Don't think so! Anybody who knows me knows that I always travel in the company of at least one man. I like how they smell. But more than that? Not likely.
Then we went to Astoria. Ate and drank and realized we were pretty tired. But Michael took a nice photo. Or three. You can click on any of them to find his flickr site.
Friday, February 16, 2007
"Thinking" and Ordination
Roshi Joan Halifax and new priest Yushin embrace.
I came across a few photos from this ordination on the Upaya/Halifax flickr site (click the photo to go there).
Tetsugan and I (and any other dharma buddy I can convince to broach the topic) have been talking about what it means to be ordained in a Zen lineage, especially in this country.
Religious reforms in the Meiji era, designed to weaken Buddhism in Japan, permitted priests to marry, and shifted the tone of practice from one of renunciates in the world, to one where priests could enjoy lives very similar to those of laypeople. Within the Japanese cultural context, however, priests retained their ceremonial role: conducting religious services and being available to the community.
Jump forward to North America in the 21st century. Those of us who really love Zen instinctively imagine that being ordained is the best way to express that sense of connection. And so "People Who Love Zen" become ordained and live in a way that includes hair, jobs, cars, houses, families. You have Zen priests who live essentially ordinary lives, devoid of most of the social and ceremonial roles of even laicized Japanese priests--except for occasionally dressing up in robes to do something.
To some, this is an appropriate expression of practice. Others wonder what the point to ordination is, other than being a strange merit badge of "really loving Zen." The question is actually only a personal one: What is the best expression of the Dharma in this life?
The question I keep turning over is, Why is the lay path not valued? Why shouldn't a devoted practitioner embody the dharma and helping others as a part of her (non-priestly) life? Wise and experienced lay people can and do lead groups and teach others. Why the need for invoking and then (some would say) abusing ordination, when the outcome looks the same?
And the dark side: what is it in ourselves that seeks a spiritual identity? That wants to be seen by others as special, holy, correct? That wants to attain respect through this means? Perhaps for you this is not an issue, and these questions fall mysteriously flat. But for me, and for many, they are alive.
My personal view at this point is that priests can't exist without a sangha to serve; that being ordained points to service as the primary focus of one's life, and that it is inappropriate to pursue worldly gain within that context.
People I love and respect may disagree. Fortunately, our views are just that: ideas.
And so it was, that, wwimming in the afterglow of yet another conversation about "The Meaning of Ordination," I came across a series of photos from a recent tokudo at Upaya.
These pictures are so beautiful, they destroy notions with their brilliance. When I stopped crying, I came here to blog, because I wanted to say something: talking and talking about something beautiful and precious is not that thing. Ideas are not true.
I don't know anything about ordination, or how other people should live their lives. But I do recognize something beautiful. And I wanted to share it with you.
That face stills all debate.
I came across a few photos from this ordination on the Upaya/Halifax flickr site (click the photo to go there).
Tetsugan and I (and any other dharma buddy I can convince to broach the topic) have been talking about what it means to be ordained in a Zen lineage, especially in this country.
Religious reforms in the Meiji era, designed to weaken Buddhism in Japan, permitted priests to marry, and shifted the tone of practice from one of renunciates in the world, to one where priests could enjoy lives very similar to those of laypeople. Within the Japanese cultural context, however, priests retained their ceremonial role: conducting religious services and being available to the community.
Jump forward to North America in the 21st century. Those of us who really love Zen instinctively imagine that being ordained is the best way to express that sense of connection. And so "People Who Love Zen" become ordained and live in a way that includes hair, jobs, cars, houses, families. You have Zen priests who live essentially ordinary lives, devoid of most of the social and ceremonial roles of even laicized Japanese priests--except for occasionally dressing up in robes to do something.
To some, this is an appropriate expression of practice. Others wonder what the point to ordination is, other than being a strange merit badge of "really loving Zen." The question is actually only a personal one: What is the best expression of the Dharma in this life?
The question I keep turning over is, Why is the lay path not valued? Why shouldn't a devoted practitioner embody the dharma and helping others as a part of her (non-priestly) life? Wise and experienced lay people can and do lead groups and teach others. Why the need for invoking and then (some would say) abusing ordination, when the outcome looks the same?
And the dark side: what is it in ourselves that seeks a spiritual identity? That wants to be seen by others as special, holy, correct? That wants to attain respect through this means? Perhaps for you this is not an issue, and these questions fall mysteriously flat. But for me, and for many, they are alive.
My personal view at this point is that priests can't exist without a sangha to serve; that being ordained points to service as the primary focus of one's life, and that it is inappropriate to pursue worldly gain within that context.
People I love and respect may disagree. Fortunately, our views are just that: ideas.
And so it was, that, wwimming in the afterglow of yet another conversation about "The Meaning of Ordination," I came across a series of photos from a recent tokudo at Upaya.
These pictures are so beautiful, they destroy notions with their brilliance. When I stopped crying, I came here to blog, because I wanted to say something: talking and talking about something beautiful and precious is not that thing. Ideas are not true.
I don't know anything about ordination, or how other people should live their lives. But I do recognize something beautiful. And I wanted to share it with you.
That face stills all debate.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Art of Forgetting
First, for those of you interested in my personal life (like Hogen :-): the manhunt is over. Not because we've found anyone, but because through the process of hunting, we've realized yet again that we really need to find ourself first. Thus, we are OFFICIALLY NOT LOOKING FOR RELATIONSHIP. We'd contemplate a vow of celibacy, but that gives the whole thing too much importance.
We are, in other words, Forgetting About It.
Forgetting is a really wonderful practice. If you accept (and through experience, confirm) the notion that all things arise, exist, and disappear, then everything, including mental proclivities, is a candidate for disappearance.
Example: Bizarre self-centered anxiety masquerading as sensitivity? It came from somewhere, maybe even before this birth. Exactly where it came from is unimportant; it came about in dependence on conditions, and it can go away. Ditto for the pervasive sense that one is incomplete without a man/woman in one's life. That one must save the world. And so forth.
So everything, every obsession about every guy who's caught my eye (or more), is available for cessation.
There are two details that keep this from being easy. (If it were too simple, we'd be doing it already!)
One is that, once the thing is arisen, it does have its natural course. Trying to kill something before its time only adds energy to the phenomenon. Once arisen, it has to exist before it can disappear.
So when it dies, let it die. That's the second detail. Things cease only if we let them. If we focus on something and continually give energy to it, it flowers into birth again and again. A habit of mind is born; maybe it even takes root so deeply as to become an aspect of identity. ["I am a sweetie-pie. I've got to make them love me."]
At the monastery last weekend, I fell into conversation around whether or not the current residents miss other long-term folks who recently departed. Again and again, when this question has come up--after people very integral to the community have left--the answer has always been the same. "They're just gone. It's like they were never here." You can be around for years, be integral to the place--but when you're gone, you're gone.
I'd like to allow life to be like that. Letting it vanish without a trace, so that something entirely new has room to grow, bloom, and compost.
We are, in other words, Forgetting About It.
Forgetting is a really wonderful practice. If you accept (and through experience, confirm) the notion that all things arise, exist, and disappear, then everything, including mental proclivities, is a candidate for disappearance.
Example: Bizarre self-centered anxiety masquerading as sensitivity? It came from somewhere, maybe even before this birth. Exactly where it came from is unimportant; it came about in dependence on conditions, and it can go away. Ditto for the pervasive sense that one is incomplete without a man/woman in one's life. That one must save the world. And so forth.
So everything, every obsession about every guy who's caught my eye (or more), is available for cessation.
There are two details that keep this from being easy. (If it were too simple, we'd be doing it already!)
One is that, once the thing is arisen, it does have its natural course. Trying to kill something before its time only adds energy to the phenomenon. Once arisen, it has to exist before it can disappear.
So when it dies, let it die. That's the second detail. Things cease only if we let them. If we focus on something and continually give energy to it, it flowers into birth again and again. A habit of mind is born; maybe it even takes root so deeply as to become an aspect of identity. ["I am a sweetie-pie. I've got to make them love me."]
At the monastery last weekend, I fell into conversation around whether or not the current residents miss other long-term folks who recently departed. Again and again, when this question has come up--after people very integral to the community have left--the answer has always been the same. "They're just gone. It's like they were never here." You can be around for years, be integral to the place--but when you're gone, you're gone.
I'd like to allow life to be like that. Letting it vanish without a trace, so that something entirely new has room to grow, bloom, and compost.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Non-Exploitative Relationship
Today a book fell open to the exact page I needed.
[The simile can be extended if you consider that a bee also pollinates the flower, benefitting the plant. By the same token, a natural, uncalculated and joyful relationship enriches and enlivens the participants. --S.]
Reprinted from Sangharakshita's A Guide to the Buddhist Path (Windhorse Publications, 1990)
Let us imagine, for instance, that we meet someone, whom after a while we start to like. The question arises: why do we like them? The answer is: we like them because they satisfy a need in us. This need may be conscious but it is most often unconscious.
Usually...we do not try [to find out what the unconscious need is]. Instead we rationalize the situation and say "I like them because they are kind and considerate," ...or "I like them because they are interested in Buddhism as I am." Whatever it is that we say, the real source of the liking is, in most cases, something quite different. That particular person...satisfies a cerain need--perhaps a very deep need--in us....
If someone has started to satisfy a need of ours...then we shall naturally want our relationship with that person to continue; so long as our need continues, we shall continue to want it satisfied. The best way for us to ensure that someone continues satisfying our need is to find out what that person needs, and then satisfy that. This is what we usually do, whether consciously or unconsciously....
In this way they become dependent on us for the satisfaction of their need, just as we have become dependent upon them for the satisfaction of our need.... Thus there arises mutual dependence and mutual exploitation, which together form the basis of most human relationships. It is as if a mutual but largely unconscious bargain is struck between two people.... Neither person...questions whether either need is a real need which ought to be satisfied, or is an artificial need which were better not satisfied--the whole process is more or less unconscious.
At this point someone might well ask, "Should we, then, never take what we need from another person?"
The answer to this is found in the verse from the Dhammapada: "Let the sage live [literally, 'fare'] in the village as the bee goes taking honey from the flower without harming colour or fragrance."
We may take what we need from another person, whether what we need is material, psychological, or spiritual, but we must take it like the bee, without harming the flower, i.e. without harming the person from whom we take it. In other words, we must take non-exploitively.
[The simile can be extended if you consider that a bee also pollinates the flower, benefitting the plant. By the same token, a natural, uncalculated and joyful relationship enriches and enlivens the participants. --S.]
We may say that there are two kinds of relationship: one based on exploitation, the other free from exploitation. We usually find that a relationship based on...mutual exploitation, either terminates catastrophically (when one person, for whatever reason, is no longer prepared to meet the need of the other) or settles down into a routine of ever-increasing boredom (if two people are involved in a relationship where they are giving to the other because the other is giving to them... [E]ventually this becomes very repetitious and boring indeed).
On the other hand, a relationship in which the satisfaction of need is more conscious, more aware, and which is not based upon any sort of bargain or exchange but upon...a full and free mutual giving without any tought of return, can go on continually deepening, becoming more and more meaningful.
Reprinted from Sangharakshita's A Guide to the Buddhist Path (Windhorse Publications, 1990)
Friday, February 09, 2007
Notes from the Fleeting World
on my way to the bank today
culinary students
with big saws and white chef hats
carving giant blocks of ice
in their parking lot:
flowers, lobsters
wish i had my camera
so i could pretend to capture something
culinary students
with big saws and white chef hats
carving giant blocks of ice
in their parking lot:
flowers, lobsters
wish i had my camera
so i could pretend to capture something
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Creation
When you create something,
you claim time
so that it does not slip away.
The object you make real
consciousness finding form
persists for a longer instant.
That thing you make--
a picture of the object,
or of yourself?
you claim time
so that it does not slip away.
The object you make real
consciousness finding form
persists for a longer instant.
That thing you make--
a picture of the object,
or of yourself?
Thursday, February 01, 2007
No separation
Found this stuck to the register at Fehrenbacher Hof, a lovely little coffeeshop in Portland's Goose Hollow.
Aside from their philosophical predilections, these are my kind of people. Every time I go in there, I have a really interesting conversation or heartfelt exchange. The coffee is good, and they have a toast bar. Very cute.
Aside from their philosophical predilections, these are my kind of people. Every time I go in there, I have a really interesting conversation or heartfelt exchange. The coffee is good, and they have a toast bar. Very cute.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Loving the World
I've been feeling quiet and a little sad.
A theme lately: loving individuals versus loving the world (meaning here: reality, things-as-it-is, the dharmadhatu).
At the end of class, the yoga teacher massages my temples. I realize he cannot do this if he sees the students through the eye of preference and personality. He has to love the universe as each person. Otherwise, rather than giving a gift, he's handling sweaty women sprawled supine in a dark room.
It's easy to get confused, though. You find yourself attracted to someone because they remind you how beautiful the world is. Focus shifts onto the messenger. And messengers are fallible.
You can be estranged from individuals. But you cannot be estranged from the world, no matter how much it hurts. Hurting is part of loving something you cannot control.
This Dharma Teaching from Anam Thubten Tulku has held a lot of meaning for me.
Also, his face makes me cry. In a good way; encouraging, not painful.
A theme lately: loving individuals versus loving the world (meaning here: reality, things-as-it-is, the dharmadhatu).
At the end of class, the yoga teacher massages my temples. I realize he cannot do this if he sees the students through the eye of preference and personality. He has to love the universe as each person. Otherwise, rather than giving a gift, he's handling sweaty women sprawled supine in a dark room.
It's easy to get confused, though. You find yourself attracted to someone because they remind you how beautiful the world is. Focus shifts onto the messenger. And messengers are fallible.
You can be estranged from individuals. But you cannot be estranged from the world, no matter how much it hurts. Hurting is part of loving something you cannot control.
This Dharma Teaching from Anam Thubten Tulku has held a lot of meaning for me.
Also, his face makes me cry. In a good way; encouraging, not painful.
Real freedom is freedom from our own conceptions, from the psychological veil that is distorting the way things are. When we are free from our own unenlightened mind, that internal veil, we see that even our problems are divine. Everything is a manifestation of Vajrayogini. That means that everything is divine. We have to love everything including the dark side of the world. We have to love whatever life presents to us. Are we ready to let go of all of our resistance and see all of life as divine, as a manifestation of Vajrayogini? This is a practical discipline.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Paradox and Inner "Voices"
This article really spoke to me. This reading and other Voice Dialogue resources can be found on J'aime's website.
Paradoxical Meanings of Life
© J’aime ona Pangaia
However it is that we’ve come to perceive the answer to that
age old query, “What is the meaning of life?” we arrive at it in
good part through the veil of our culture and specifically, our
subjective experience of culture.
To one person, the answer may be that the meaning of life is
defined through his or her religion. To fulfill one’s purpose is
to live in such a way that you go to heaven, or become
enlightened, or love or serve the most number of people
right here on earth. It could be that life feels most successful
and accomplished when one is on track towards financial
success, having a nice home, a suitable wardrobe and car
that reflects your status and enough things to play with. For
some people, no matter what else you accomplish, the
ultimate purpose of life includes a biological imperative:
we’re here to create another, build and enjoy a family, to
propel the humankind successfully forward through our
family lineage.
For others, the meaning is defined by how close to
immortality you come, perhaps by virtue of your social
contributions. These would be the contributions that enable
you and your values to live on in the hearts and minds of the
most people over the greatest amount of time -- Leonardo
da Vinci, Beethoven, Ghandi, Albert Einstein.
When one has an assumption that life is made worthwhile by
virtue of accomplishing some culturally defined task, then
whatever experience doesn’t fulfill that task can come to be
seen as a waste of life. How many times have you heard
your inner critic telling you that you were wasting your life?
And there's that old adage: “Time is money.” Here's the
notion that life can be misspent when one doesn’t purchase
the best possible outcomes with life’s limited resource: time.
This is a fear that runs deep down in many people’s hearts.
Just as our physical bodies are composed of many different
kinds of organs and parts that fulfill the various needs that
our bodies have as a whole, so too is our psyche composed
of many parts that exist to express or fulfill our different
psychological needs. Many of these needs exist in
opposition to each other, like our simultaneous needs for
connection and for boundaries. In the development of our
ego (or, the “I am” level where will and choice are exercised
from) we grew up identifying with some of these inner parts,
and dis-identifying ourselves from others. This identifying
and alienating works in many ways but, sooner or later, we
will experience how it doesn’t work.
A while back, I heard my own inner critic telling me that I
hadn’t been spending my life correctly. Like it or not, the
inner critic is always a courier bearing the message that
we’ve become too identified with one aspect of our psyche to
the exclusion of it’s opposite. My inner critic had been
worried because it was positive that my life wasn't adding up
to enlightenment, sufficient material wealth and social
currency - and I've had no children. It was concerned that I
wasn’t doing enough.
On the one hand I recognized an internal set of values
around making my contributions to society, and on the other
hand, I held a value in just being ordinary -- a regular person
-- and in allowing myself to just “be”. Because my inner critic
got fearful that I was wasting my life by not guaranteeing my
place in old age, history, or a perfect afterlife, my inner critic
was speaking on behalf of a part of me I had been disowning
a bit: that ‘special-doer’ self. I decided to reflect on the
concerns of this critical inner voice, to hear and examine
what those values were that I wasn’t accomplishing.
I recognized that ‘special/doer’ self system in a statement
I’ve often made. “How extraordinary it is, in all the span of
known human history, to be a woman, educated (literate
especially) and intelligent, who owns her own property,
without needing to be married or beholden to her father,
without the responsibilities of children (and even to have the
real choice not to have children), to be healthy and
physically able -- how rare in all of history this is.
And even though this is true in my own time and place,
many, many women are not so free. THEREFORE, this part
of me sonorously intoned, I have a duty to all those other
women, to all those other female lives, to use these special
potentials and conditions I’ve been blessed with, to
maximize the benefits of these conditions, not only for my
own well being, but for all women! For the race!!! The
species!!! For all life!!!
Of course, I snickered as I thought this, because right on
cue, the other parts of me swung into position with this wry,
critical observation: “How inflated. How utterly grandiose.”
Unlike my life of a number of years ago when I had been a
complete workaholic, my ‘ordinary/being’ self now had a
place in my life. I’d been content to engage myself in the
smaller things -- keep my home comfortable, enjoy my
garden, go to the market, read, watch movies, have friends
over for a dinner. When I lived from this part of me, I would
be happy to just go for walks, stretch, and get plenty of rest.
This has been what drove my ‘special/doer self’ crazy. “It’s
all meaningless activity,” it harped. “It’s a total waste. I’m not
getting anywhere. There’s no drive. No significant,
memorable contributions. No nothing! What a bore! Life is
almost over and you want to play and relax?!”
From a neutral place of awareness, I could feel how the
‘special/ doer self’ in particular suffers from mortality. This is
also a side that perceives time as a flow, a uni-directional
and constant movement from beginning to end, from birth to
death. To the 'special/doer' side, living from that "ordinary /
being' perspective feels like a big waste of time; it's
stagnation. Life is seen as a growth process; from inspiration
to creation, from little to big, from seed to plant to flower.
One needs to grow to a purpose: to flower, to attain.
This part of me didn’t want the end to come before the
flowering. In fact, from there, I felt that life would be ending
all too soon. This is the side of me that has the generative
drive, a productive urge: a child, a book, a painting, a
contribution, a product, a by-product of my existence that
lives on beyond me, that proves I was here and that I did
something with my life. This part wants to carve my initials
into the rock of ages. All of this is how this one part of me
defined the “meaning of life,” and by openly and neutrally
listening to it, I found that I could honor its perspective
without judging it.
The ‘ordinary/being self’, on the other hand, lives in the
moments. It is like meditation, whether in motion or stillness.
Meaning is an experience one has by being present in the
moment. Reading and learning is not a method to get
somewhere else, it is an opportunity to be present with
another ones’ views or experiences. When I live ‘in the
moment', my experience deepens and expands, becomes
richer, more complex and full. From here, I didn’t see my
attributes or conditions as being unusual or more historically
pertinent than other periods. Every life has always had its
own unique set of conditions to experience. What is most
important is how fully alive in the moment I could be,
whatever my circumstances.
From this place in myself, fulfillment comes from enjoying
“what is.” Every moment is the destination, the
accomplishment. Whether one “flowers” or not, one exists.
Existence itself is meaningful and worthy. The flower can
never exist without the seeds, the roots, stem, leaves, bud
and ~ every such moment ~ has merit and must be
experienced as it occurs.
When I'm operating from this ‘being-part’, I, as this "flowering
plant", happen all at once. Time does not begin, move or
end. It’s all a present moment. Time is not a singular
direction; it’s an immortal event. The ‘ordinary/being self’
suffers when I operate from a strictly linear movement of
time because it’s then that the multi-dimensional, all
pervasive moment disappears. In linear time, the ordinary,
present, being-self just evaporates from consciousness.
By I honoring equally the validity of these inner opposing
selves, my inner critic quieted down. In that moment, the
inner critic didn’t have to deliver the message any more that
there is a stifled self in me. I could non-judgmentally notice
both sides and be capable of acting on either or some
version of both.
This kind of awareness process establishes a precarious and
paradoxical sense of calm and dynamism in me, a kind of
inner weightlessness. It’s not unlike the physical sensation I
had as a child on a swing. Back and forth, I’d wholeheartedly
lean into the air, higher and higher, enjoying in particular
those moments when I’d reach the height of one direction
and I had not yet been pulled back down by gravity. I’d have
that moment where I was perfectly balanced between going
up and going down.
I have to be able to recognize the validity of both my
‘ordinary/being’ and my ‘special/doer’ to even have the
opportunity to experience those in-between moments of
clarity. Clarity comes from fully appreciating the contrast and
the mutually exclusive needs these opposites represent.
Then begins the struggle to stay awake to these yin yang
realities, the struggle to exercise free will. Free will arrives
when we have real choice, knowing and honoring paradox,
feeling and choosing our way of being in this particular
situation, and staying connected with the inner
consequences.
J’aime ona Pangaia is the director of Voice Dialogue Center NW in Portland
Oregon. She is also the author of the book, The Benefit of People Who Bug You.
She can be reached at 503-788-8060 and vdcnw@comcast.net
Paradoxical Meanings of Life
© J’aime ona Pangaia
However it is that we’ve come to perceive the answer to that
age old query, “What is the meaning of life?” we arrive at it in
good part through the veil of our culture and specifically, our
subjective experience of culture.
To one person, the answer may be that the meaning of life is
defined through his or her religion. To fulfill one’s purpose is
to live in such a way that you go to heaven, or become
enlightened, or love or serve the most number of people
right here on earth. It could be that life feels most successful
and accomplished when one is on track towards financial
success, having a nice home, a suitable wardrobe and car
that reflects your status and enough things to play with. For
some people, no matter what else you accomplish, the
ultimate purpose of life includes a biological imperative:
we’re here to create another, build and enjoy a family, to
propel the humankind successfully forward through our
family lineage.
For others, the meaning is defined by how close to
immortality you come, perhaps by virtue of your social
contributions. These would be the contributions that enable
you and your values to live on in the hearts and minds of the
most people over the greatest amount of time -- Leonardo
da Vinci, Beethoven, Ghandi, Albert Einstein.
When one has an assumption that life is made worthwhile by
virtue of accomplishing some culturally defined task, then
whatever experience doesn’t fulfill that task can come to be
seen as a waste of life. How many times have you heard
your inner critic telling you that you were wasting your life?
And there's that old adage: “Time is money.” Here's the
notion that life can be misspent when one doesn’t purchase
the best possible outcomes with life’s limited resource: time.
This is a fear that runs deep down in many people’s hearts.
Just as our physical bodies are composed of many different
kinds of organs and parts that fulfill the various needs that
our bodies have as a whole, so too is our psyche composed
of many parts that exist to express or fulfill our different
psychological needs. Many of these needs exist in
opposition to each other, like our simultaneous needs for
connection and for boundaries. In the development of our
ego (or, the “I am” level where will and choice are exercised
from) we grew up identifying with some of these inner parts,
and dis-identifying ourselves from others. This identifying
and alienating works in many ways but, sooner or later, we
will experience how it doesn’t work.
A while back, I heard my own inner critic telling me that I
hadn’t been spending my life correctly. Like it or not, the
inner critic is always a courier bearing the message that
we’ve become too identified with one aspect of our psyche to
the exclusion of it’s opposite. My inner critic had been
worried because it was positive that my life wasn't adding up
to enlightenment, sufficient material wealth and social
currency - and I've had no children. It was concerned that I
wasn’t doing enough.
On the one hand I recognized an internal set of values
around making my contributions to society, and on the other
hand, I held a value in just being ordinary -- a regular person
-- and in allowing myself to just “be”. Because my inner critic
got fearful that I was wasting my life by not guaranteeing my
place in old age, history, or a perfect afterlife, my inner critic
was speaking on behalf of a part of me I had been disowning
a bit: that ‘special-doer’ self. I decided to reflect on the
concerns of this critical inner voice, to hear and examine
what those values were that I wasn’t accomplishing.
I recognized that ‘special/doer’ self system in a statement
I’ve often made. “How extraordinary it is, in all the span of
known human history, to be a woman, educated (literate
especially) and intelligent, who owns her own property,
without needing to be married or beholden to her father,
without the responsibilities of children (and even to have the
real choice not to have children), to be healthy and
physically able -- how rare in all of history this is.
And even though this is true in my own time and place,
many, many women are not so free. THEREFORE, this part
of me sonorously intoned, I have a duty to all those other
women, to all those other female lives, to use these special
potentials and conditions I’ve been blessed with, to
maximize the benefits of these conditions, not only for my
own well being, but for all women! For the race!!! The
species!!! For all life!!!
Of course, I snickered as I thought this, because right on
cue, the other parts of me swung into position with this wry,
critical observation: “How inflated. How utterly grandiose.”
Unlike my life of a number of years ago when I had been a
complete workaholic, my ‘ordinary/being’ self now had a
place in my life. I’d been content to engage myself in the
smaller things -- keep my home comfortable, enjoy my
garden, go to the market, read, watch movies, have friends
over for a dinner. When I lived from this part of me, I would
be happy to just go for walks, stretch, and get plenty of rest.
This has been what drove my ‘special/doer self’ crazy. “It’s
all meaningless activity,” it harped. “It’s a total waste. I’m not
getting anywhere. There’s no drive. No significant,
memorable contributions. No nothing! What a bore! Life is
almost over and you want to play and relax?!”
From a neutral place of awareness, I could feel how the
‘special/ doer self’ in particular suffers from mortality. This is
also a side that perceives time as a flow, a uni-directional
and constant movement from beginning to end, from birth to
death. To the 'special/doer' side, living from that "ordinary /
being' perspective feels like a big waste of time; it's
stagnation. Life is seen as a growth process; from inspiration
to creation, from little to big, from seed to plant to flower.
One needs to grow to a purpose: to flower, to attain.
This part of me didn’t want the end to come before the
flowering. In fact, from there, I felt that life would be ending
all too soon. This is the side of me that has the generative
drive, a productive urge: a child, a book, a painting, a
contribution, a product, a by-product of my existence that
lives on beyond me, that proves I was here and that I did
something with my life. This part wants to carve my initials
into the rock of ages. All of this is how this one part of me
defined the “meaning of life,” and by openly and neutrally
listening to it, I found that I could honor its perspective
without judging it.
The ‘ordinary/being self’, on the other hand, lives in the
moments. It is like meditation, whether in motion or stillness.
Meaning is an experience one has by being present in the
moment. Reading and learning is not a method to get
somewhere else, it is an opportunity to be present with
another ones’ views or experiences. When I live ‘in the
moment', my experience deepens and expands, becomes
richer, more complex and full. From here, I didn’t see my
attributes or conditions as being unusual or more historically
pertinent than other periods. Every life has always had its
own unique set of conditions to experience. What is most
important is how fully alive in the moment I could be,
whatever my circumstances.
From this place in myself, fulfillment comes from enjoying
“what is.” Every moment is the destination, the
accomplishment. Whether one “flowers” or not, one exists.
Existence itself is meaningful and worthy. The flower can
never exist without the seeds, the roots, stem, leaves, bud
and ~ every such moment ~ has merit and must be
experienced as it occurs.
When I'm operating from this ‘being-part’, I, as this "flowering
plant", happen all at once. Time does not begin, move or
end. It’s all a present moment. Time is not a singular
direction; it’s an immortal event. The ‘ordinary/being self’
suffers when I operate from a strictly linear movement of
time because it’s then that the multi-dimensional, all
pervasive moment disappears. In linear time, the ordinary,
present, being-self just evaporates from consciousness.
By I honoring equally the validity of these inner opposing
selves, my inner critic quieted down. In that moment, the
inner critic didn’t have to deliver the message any more that
there is a stifled self in me. I could non-judgmentally notice
both sides and be capable of acting on either or some
version of both.
This kind of awareness process establishes a precarious and
paradoxical sense of calm and dynamism in me, a kind of
inner weightlessness. It’s not unlike the physical sensation I
had as a child on a swing. Back and forth, I’d wholeheartedly
lean into the air, higher and higher, enjoying in particular
those moments when I’d reach the height of one direction
and I had not yet been pulled back down by gravity. I’d have
that moment where I was perfectly balanced between going
up and going down.
I have to be able to recognize the validity of both my
‘ordinary/being’ and my ‘special/doer’ to even have the
opportunity to experience those in-between moments of
clarity. Clarity comes from fully appreciating the contrast and
the mutually exclusive needs these opposites represent.
Then begins the struggle to stay awake to these yin yang
realities, the struggle to exercise free will. Free will arrives
when we have real choice, knowing and honoring paradox,
feeling and choosing our way of being in this particular
situation, and staying connected with the inner
consequences.
J’aime ona Pangaia is the director of Voice Dialogue Center NW in Portland
Oregon. She is also the author of the book, The Benefit of People Who Bug You.
She can be reached at 503-788-8060 and vdcnw@comcast.net
Facing the Darkness
I am posting this story without comment, but with a serious heart ("somber," someone called me).
Many wise people read this blog. What do you make of the Baal Shem Tov's question?
The Baal Shem Tov was a famous Jewish Hassid leader of the 18th
century. One day his disciples come to him and tell him
that a famous teacher is giving a talk in the neighboring
town and they would like to go and hear him. He gladly
gives his permission and they ask him, "Master —
Can you help us? How will we know if he is really wise?"
The Baal Shem thinks for a moment and then he says to his
loyal disciples: "At some point when he is talking, ask him
how we can get rid of the Evil One of power?"
The disciples are dancing with delight at his answer to them. But then
they realize that he has given them a question with no
answer and so they ask: "Master — your question is a
very good one — but what is the answer?"
"Ah," says the Baal Shem. "If he gives you an answer he’s a
fake!"
from a retelling by Dr Hal Stone
Many wise people read this blog. What do you make of the Baal Shem Tov's question?
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